


Lilac

by Twelfthpaldi



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Caretaking, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7759966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twelfthpaldi/pseuds/Twelfthpaldi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Palm looked at him, perhaps examining him for some clue to the root of his newfound dedication. Even Knuckle wasn't sure of its cause. He and Shoot had been little more than acquaintances, fellow students under Morel's tutelage. A year ago, he couldn't have imagined staying in the city just to be beside Shoot day and night. Now, as images of their mission together flashed behind his eyes, Knuckle couldn't imagine being any less loyal. Maybe it was just his sentimental side."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hospital Life

The city was quieter in the summertime. This part of the country was relatively temperate during the early summer. In fact, it was nothing next to the oppressive heat of their stay in Peijing. Granted, they had been too anxious to notice, anticipating their supposed impending doom. Now that all the pressing danger was past, there was a rhythm to each passing day. 

 

The city woke up with the sunrise. Businessmen, still clad in austere dark suits, commuted in from far-off suburbs, talking into their cellphones as they crowded every train, bus, and sidewalk. The children emerged not long after, enjoying their newfound freedom from schoolwork at the playgrounds, parks and ice cream stands. 

 

Knuckle awoke, again, to the dull thudding of _something_  on the wall against his head. Despite the homey environment the nurses attempted to cultivate, the hospital was no place for an extended stay. The armchair that had served as Knuckle's bed for the past four weeks had lost nearly all of its padding, leaving only an indistinguishable lump of what used to be suede remaining in its place. The blue fleece blanket, shredded and pilled from extensive use, was all that made the chair bed-like. If Knuckle propped up carefully on his left arm, he could balance perfectly, nearly comfortable in the small space. He usually slept peacefully - at least, until the incessant knocking disturbed his slumber. The same time, every morning. 

 

He rolled towards the left armrest, groaning softly. In a moment he was on his feet, trying to make minimal noise as he extricated himself from his makeshift bed. _Shut up,_ he thought towards the wall, devoid of any real animosity. He couldn't bring himself to bump a fist against it as he had many other mornings; the nurses were only doing their jobs, after all. Besides, the unwelcome knocking was only another facet of that daily rhythm, the cycle that repeated with every passing dawn. He stepped to the window, tugging on the blinds' cord to reveal the view of the skyline. The hospital was not an enormous building, but Shoot's room was still high enough to assure them an impressive view. The rising sun gave a rosy pink hue to the soft clouds, reflecting in the shiny windows of the nearby buildings. 

 

Knuckle glanced towards the proper bed in the room, assured that Shoot was still asleep. The man's chest rose and fell softly under the thin white sheet, his expression placid. He was still critically injured, that was certain. The thick bandages wrapped around his limbs, lumpy underneath the covers, were evidence enough. They kept him trapped in this sterile space, visited by an endless litany of doctors.

 

Morel, discharged from his own room a week ago, came each afternoon to visit. The head physician often spoke with him about Shoot's progress, their quiet tones hushed but audible in the hallway. The prognosis was good, of course, but it would take time. There was nothing Knuckle could do to help but wait and watch, offering Shoot whatever care he needed.

 

Knuckle slipped into his jacket, leaving it unbuttoned over the grey t-shirt and sweatpants he had adopted since they moved into the hospital. Morel had brought them to him, telling him, "You'll want to be more comfortable," Knuckle had known from the tone in his mentor's voice that day that he and Shoot would be stuck there for a while.

 

Now, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging on the wall. From an acquaintance's perspective, he was probably near unrecognizable. His skin was wan, the lines in his face deeper and tighter than ever. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, noting how it was overgrown and frizzy. His lost muscle mass, more noticeable than Shoot's on his shorter frame, made him look weak, almost sickly. In all honesty, he looked terrible.

 

But Knuckle turned away, his own vanity dormant. He had more important things to worry about for the time being.  

 

-x-x-x-

 

Palm was not the same person she had been before the "accident," as they referred to it, stripped her (technically) of her humanity. Her arms and legs, scaly and blue, were unsettling to the touch. The obtrusive purple orb, half-emerged from her forehead, was more than an eyesore; Morel had observed a strange chill in the room whenever she was present. Knuckle tried to tell him it was only his imagination, that a dark cloud had always followed Palm Siberia.

 

In the essentials, she was much the same as she had always been. She came to the hospital frequently, bringing little presents, food or other niceties to keep Morel's students entertained. Knuckle suspected that Knov requested this from her, as a favor for Morel - either that, or she was just lonely in the city. Still, he found a respite in her visits, a friendly face to break the monotony and the silence.

 

Today, she was in the lobby, spread out across one of the waiting room tables. Her long fingernails clicked across the keys of her laptop, a gift from Knov years ago. Her other possessions surrounded her workspace like a halo: a half-empty coffee mug, a water bottle with glittery dolphin stickers pasted on the plastic, an empty candy bar wrapper, a sticky note with a half-dozen scribbled lines. Knuckle approached the table silently, but his footsteps, heavy with sleep, gave him away. Palm looked up, her piercing eyes focused on his face instantly.

 

"Hey," she said. "Good morning,"

"Good morning," Knuckle replied, clearing his throat after hearing his own gravelly voice. "How long've you been out here?"

"About three hours," Palm told him, looking back to her laptop screen. "You know I can't sleep well there,"

 

 _There_  was Knov's apartment. Staying with her own teacher during his time in the city was the logical choice, Knuckle knew.  Morel was sleeping there too, set up on the living room sofa.  The place had seemed nice enough, clean and well-organized, just like Knov himself. Knuckle had gone there for dinner a handful of evenings; it was a welcome change from eating hospital food. Unfortunately, he was afraid to leave Shoot alone too long, so his visits had been brief. Still, he couldn't help but wonder why Palm hated it there so much. Knowing her feelings towards Knov made the whole issue rather puzzling.

 

"I do," he replied. He settled into the chair opposite her, the stiff plastic rather punishing at this time of the morning.

Palm looked back to him, giving him a once-over. "You look like hell," she told him matter-of-factly.

"What's new?" Knuckle sniped. "I'm sleeping in a chair," Spying the half-empty mug, he asked, "Coffee?"

Palm pushed the cup in his direction, an idle, casual gesture. "Have some. It's still warm,"

 

In past circumstances, Knuckle would have rejected the sugary drink. However, the thought of free caffeine was appealing. He picked up the cup and pressed the rim to his lips, cringing as he tasted the sucrose.

"Gah, how do you stand that?" he said, reaching for her water bottle in an attempt to banish the unwanted sweetness.

"It's sweet, huh?" Palm laughed in her throat. "Just like me,"

"No," Knuckle teased her. "The _opposite_ of you! You're in denial,"

 

Palm pushed a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear. "Hey, you wanna go out later?" she asked. "Get some dinner. Or at least some fresh air. It might perk you up,"

Knuckle shook his head. "Shoot's having physical therapy this afternoon. He'll need me here,"

"Bummer," Palm frowned. "Maybe I'll just bring you something. You deserve it,"

Knuckle shrugged. "Suit yourself. Y'know I'd be grateful,"

"The cafeteria here sucks. I'm surprised it doesn't give the patients food poisoning,"

"The meatloaf's not bad,"

 

The lobby was empty aside from the two of them. Having Hunters checked into this hospital was a common occurrence. The proximity to the Association HQ combined with the relatively modern medical equipment made it a popular choice, especially for for long-term treatment. Still, the place was not immune to excitement; while Gon was undergoing treatment, it was in an uproar. Now Shoot was the last remaining patient from the Chimera Ant mission, and even he didn't have long left to stay. As such, much of the hospital's everyday routine had been restored. The nurses rotated in and out like clockwork, attending to their duties day and night. The patients (and Knuckle) were the only ones to stay full-time.

 

"When you two get out of here," Palm said, picking up her own mug and drinking from it unceremoniously, "we're going to celebrate big time,"

Knuckle grinned. "You know Morel will accept nothing less. Thing is, I'm not sure how long we'll be stuck here,"

"Shoot checks out in just two weeks," Palm pointed out. "At least that's for certain,"

"I wonder when Morel's planning to leave town," Knuckle wondered aloud. "He'll still have business for a while, y'know, with the post-election and everything,"

"Shoot may not want to leave right away, but I'd imagine you could, if you wanted to," The last part of her sentence hangs in the air, a touch uncertain.

"No way," Knuckle shook his head quickly. "I won't leave Shoot by himself," 

 

Palm looked at him, perhaps examining him for some clue to the root of his newfound dedication. Even Knuckle wasn't sure of its cause. He and Shoot had been little more than acquaintances, fellow students under Morel's tutelage. A year ago, he couldn't have imagined staying in the city just to be beside Shoot day and night. Now, as images of their mission together flashed behind his eyes, Knuckle couldn't imagine being any less loyal. Maybe it was just his sentimental side. 

 

-x-x-x-

 

Before too long, Knuckle bid Palm goodbye. She returned to her work, squinting at her screen as the sunlight continued to filter in. The maze of hallways, painted a variety of chipper pastels, had become navigable over the past weeks. As he returned to Shoot's room, Knuckle contemplated Palm's words. When Shoot was released, what then? Would Morel expect his students to resume their former duties? Knuckle knew he wasn't physically - or emotionally - fit to continue his own training right away. Besides, Morel was unimaginably busy. His adventures in East Gorteau had cast him into the Association's limelight. Knuckle wanted his teacher to be there, to _support_  him and Shoot, but he could expect nothing so selfish.

 

When he arrived at Shoot's room, the door was already propped open. Golden sunlight shone through the open blinds, casting weird, warm waves of color across the boring linoleum. Shoot was sitting up in bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows by one of the attending nurses. There was a soft glow about him as he held a book up with a single Nen hand. His eyes were keenly focused on the words in front of him, but they were tired and ringed with dark circles.

 

"Good morning," Knuckle echoed the greeting he had shared with Palm. Walking over, he sat at the foot of the bed. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," Shoot replied. His voice was still weak. The book-holding hand floated aside, as elegant as ever. "Not as sore. Maybe this will be a good day,"

"Definitely," Knuckle forced a smile to his face. Seeing how slow Shoot's progress had been was painful sometimes. He had been nearly comatose for a week, unable to sit up for a week after that. The physical therapy helped him exercise his damaged muscles. He patted gently at the bandaged leg through the covers. Shoot didn't even wince - a good sign.

 

"I had breakfast," Shoot averted his eyes. "I assumed you already ate,"

" 'S fine," Knuckle assured him. The Nen hand floated near again, holding a half-full glass of water. Shoot held it to his own mouth, taking the smallest of sips. Knuckle knew that Shoot liked being able to summon that ability with minimal energy expenditure - it made him more self-sufficient. "I'm glad to see you're awake,"

"It's hard to sleep here," This time it was Shoot to echo Palm's words. "I'll be glad when we can go home,"

 

The last words were nearly too quiet to hear, but their impact was undeniable. _Home._ Again, Knuckle was plagued with the uncertainty that bubbled up in his chest, drowning out the steady rhythm they had found over the past weeks. Still, it was a nice thought - home with Shoot - and he found himself murmuring something soft in response. 

 

Soon the nurse came back and it was back to a usual day. Knuckle tried to help wherever he could - folding towels, fetching equipment, making Shoot comfortable. Physical therapy was a nice word for a painful proposition. Knuckle usually left the room while the physical therapist met with Shoot. If the pained noises coming from behind the closed door were any indication, it was not an enjoyable affair. Shoot always moved more stiffly afterwards, his bruises appearing darker against his pale skin. Was it helping him? Knuckle wasn't a doctor, so he just propped up Shoot's limbs delicately, trying not to cause any more pain. 

 

"There? Is that okay?" he asked Shoot as he bolstered his leg with a particularly solid cushion.

"Mmph... yeah," Shoot sighed, closing his eyes. The smaller scratches across his body had nearly healed now, leaving only the deep gashes, which had scabbed over and no longer caused pain with every movement. Knuckle was thankful for this - in the early days, he could barely touch Shoot at all without inducing wincing and whimpering. It had wrung his heart out.

 

"It's a nice day outside," Knuckle remarked as he settled onto the foot of the bed. The mid-afternoon sun was high, casting its heat down onto the city below. There were ripples of heat rising from the concrete rooftop adjacent to the hospital, flickering like tiny mirages.

"Yeah," Shoot said. "Would be a nice day for a walk,"

"You're right," Knuckle agreed. He thought of Palm and her kind offer. "Maybe a little hot, if we're being fair,"

"You can go," Shoot's voice was soft, his eyes averted as Knuckle turned to look at his face. "I'm fine. You should go enjoy yourself for a little while,"

 

Knuckle didn't know what to say for a moment. He laid the gentlest hand on Shoot's leg through the blankets, a solid weight against the thick bandages. Shoot met his eyes then. The injured man's expression seemed much more vulnerable than usual, the barest trembling visible in his lower lip. Knuckle spent a lot of time thinking about how to ease his stay in the hospital. Often it seemed as though Shoot worried just as much about Knuckle - worried that perhaps he felt trapped in this sterile cage, trapped in duties he wanted no part of. 

 

"I'm fine," Knuckle replied. He gently patted Shoot's leg, clearly watching for any signs that the touch might be unwelcome. However, his leg was not in such bad shape. Shoot sniffed.

"I'm just making sure,"

"I know," Knuckle said. He cast his eyes down to the blanket. It was white basketweave, equally worn as Knuckle's own blue fleece. "Thanks for thinking of me,"

"No," Shoot sat up a little taller. "No, it's not just that,"

Knuckle met his eyes. They were round as saucers, heavy with concern. "What's wrong?" 

"I just..." Shoot paused, looking away again. Knuckle leaned forward, furrowing his brow. "I just don't want you to... feel like you _need_  to stay,"

 

Knuckle was silent for a moment as he looked over Shoot's face. He understood - Shoot didn't want to be a burden. _How can I help him understand that couldn't be farther from the truth?_ Slowly, he slid his hand forward until it met Shoot's, lying slack against his side. He insinuated his own fingers underneath the others, holding them within his grasp. Shoot looked up, surprise evident across his features. 

 

"Shoot," Knuckle began, feeling the name catch in his throat as soon as he spoke. He decided to stick with something simple. "I wanted to stay with you, y'know?"

Shoot's face relaxed marginally. "I know," he conceded, his voice quiet even in the silent room. "But... you stayed a long time... much longer than you had to,"

Knuckle scoffed, squeezing Shoot's hand lightly. He thought he could see the touch of a blush on Shoot's cheeks, but he dismissed the thought before it had time to take hold. "I wanted to," he insisted. 

Shoot sighed. "Okay," he relented. Then he added, quickly, "I'm sorry,"

"Don't be sorry," Knuckle looked down to their hands.

 

Even after his extended stay in the hospital, Shoot's hands were nice and soft. It probably had something to do with the variety of lotions Palm had brought to his bedside table over the weeks. Knuckle had always abused his own hands, ignoring the dry skin and callused fingertips. With his hand in Shoot's, fingers intertwining, he wondered if maybe it was time to start paying better attention to them.

 

A few moments passed in silence, Shoot not saying anything. Knuckle just stayed there. He wanted to say something else, to assure Shoot that he meant what he said, but he couldn't find the words to. 

"It's what Morel expects of his students," Shoot remarked suddenly. His voice held a strange tone that was hard to place.

"What?"

"To stick together," Knuckle looked up from their hands to meet Shoot's gaze. Shoot looked serious, almost determined. "He expects us to stick together,"

Knuckle's mouth opened and closed before protesting. "Sure, Morel expects us to stay near him, so we can continue our training. But I don't---"

"He asked you to look after me," Shoot said. It wasn't a question. Knuckle couldn't deny that Morel had made the request of him. 

 

"Stay with Shoot, at least for a little while," his teacher had said. Even dressed in a hospital gown, he was an imposing presence. Knuckle had looked up to meet Morel's gaze head-on.

"I'll stay here until he's well enough to take care of himself," he had told him.

"Hmph. You can stay until you're ready to go. That's all I'm asking,"

 

Now, Knuckle's gaze flickered back to the joined hands. Shoot hadn't tried to pull away, so he assumed this was fine. "Yeah, he did. But only until you were feeling better,"

"You don't want to leave," Shoot said, as if confirming it to himself. 

Knuckle sighed. "We'll go home together, Shoot," he told him. "I'm not leaving. I don't want to. I... have a duty to fulfill. To myself, okay? Not to Morel,"

Shoot's eyes softened. "Okay," he said, and then imperceptibly, "okay," He laid his head back on the pillows behind him, eyelids fluttering closed.

 

Knuckle ran his thumb along the side of Shoot's hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Before this, he had only felt responsible for his dogs... never other _humans._  Dogs were sources of unconditional love; he was never afraid of making mistakes. Now, the weight and the worry was enough to smother his heart with trepidation. Shoot's hand in Knuckle's was nice and soft. Knuckle didn't want to be afraid, so he sat there for a while, watching Shoot drift off to sleep.

 

-x-x-x-

 

As the sun began to set behind the horizon, Palm showed up with takeout boxes. She and Knuckle settled in the chairs in the corner of the room, eating hungrily.

"Hey, there's a circus in town," Palm told him.

"Really?"

"Yeah. And I saw two guys playing chess in the park. They were good, really good,"

"That's cool,"

"The kids with kites were back out again today too,"

Knuckle raised his eyes from his box. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his tone quizzical.

"I don't know," Palm speared a piece of broccoli with her fork. "Just bringing a little of the outside world to you. You haven't had much of a chance to explore,"

 

Casting his eyes to the sleeping man in the bed, Knuckle said, "I don't need to, really,"

Palm followed his gaze, eyes resting on Shoot as well. She looked back at Knuckle. "You're so in love," she whispered.

Knuckle sputtered, coughing on his rice. "Oh," he said. He wasn't sure what to make of the idea, except that it caused a twisting in his throat that he couldn't really explain. 

"It's okay," Palm told him. There was a teasing smile playing across her lips. "I won't tell,"

 

Before long, the sun sunk below the horizon, blocked out by tall skyscrapers. The city lit up with a pale blue glow, artificial lights turning on in every building. Now the sidewalks were quieter - the children had all gone home hours ago as the businessmen prepared for their nightly commutes. Morel, released late from his meetings with the Association leadership, walked over to the hospital. Even that building was quiet now, the late-shift staff performing their duties with a more somber mood. After waving a hello to a familiar face at the nurse's kiosk, Morel pushed open the door to Shoot's room. 

 

The room was dark inside, the only light in the room filtering in from the city outside. Shoot was sound asleep, his slender chest rising and falling with each careful breath. The doctors were impressed with his ability to heal so quickly. Morel had assured them his student was tougher than he first appeared, but he privately admitted there was a different explanation.

 

Indeed, the entire room was straightened up, the trash thrown out and the clutter picked up and put away. There was a new vase of flowers on the bedside table, no doubt Palm's work. Clean towels were neatly folded and hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It almost felt homey, even if it was just a hospital room. Morel smiled as he saw this, thinking fondly of his pupils.

 

Knuckle was curled up in the chair he called his bed. Still dressed in his grey t-shirt, he slept with a peaceful expression. Morel walked over, grabbing the blue fleece blanket from the foot of Shoot's bed and laying it over his student. "Good job," he whispered, almost too quiet to hear. Knuckle didn't hear him either way - he was a heavy sleeper. Morel shut the door behind him and began his walk back to Knov's apartment.

 

 _My boys,_ he thought. _Knuckle takes good care of Shoot. No... they take care of each other, don't they_? The big man chuckled to himself as he made his way down the sidewalk. And the lulling night sounds of the city were dark and dense, closing in behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! This is a sweet, adorable pairing. There will be more chapters coming asap. Please leave any ideas, questions or concerns in the comment section below! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Knuckle could always picture Shoot's face as he looked out at that disappearing glow. The golden light across his pale skin made him look healthier somehow; it gave Knuckle comfort even if he knew it was just an illusion. Knuckle could picture the way the golden light reflected in Shoot's eyes too, warm and diffuse. Even when Shoot was in critical condition, Knuckle had appreciated the sunsets. They were a sign that they had made it through another day; they gave him hope that everything was going to be okay somehow. Although most of the danger was past, there was still the lingering sense of an indistinguishable threat on the horizon. But in the warm glow of the sunset, that threat was very far away."

 

"Okay, there's... that's good... be careful,"

"I can walk by myself," 

"I don't trust you to," Knuckle quickly wrapped an arm around Shoot as he helped him out of bed, hesitating as he felt how weakened Shoot's shoulders were. The injured man had been getting up to walk around the hospital for nearly a week now, but Knuckle was still afraid he might hurt himself in the hallway.

"It's linoleum," Shoot clicked his tongue, craning his neck to look at Knuckle. "It's hardly even slippery,"

"It's slippery enough," Knuckle warned. "I don't want you to have a setback,"

"... You worry too much,"

Knuckle placed a protective hand at Shoot's elbow as they stepped out into the hallway. "Maybe. Better safe than sorry, y'know?"

 

The two walked as leisurely as they could, Shoot still limping rather severely. Although he struggled with each step, wincing when his injured leg touched the ground, Shoot seemed to enjoy getting out for a change of scenery. His face was brighter than it had been, his violet hair pulled away in a bun on top of his head. They passed the nurse's kiosk, waving to the woman dressed in lavender. 

"You're moving a little better today," Knuckle remarked, running his fingers along the pastel green wall. He enjoyed his walks with Shoot. It almost felt like old times... but better. Better because they were something close to friends now, instead of fellow students. Knuckle remembered walking together with Shoot, side by side just as they were now, in the little village just outside of NGL. It felt like a lifetime away.

"Yeah," Shoot shook his leg gingerly, unsteady on a single leg for the briefest of moments. It brought an unpleasant memory to Knuckle's mind, gone as quickly as it came. "Getting used to it, anyway,"

"The physical therapy's helping," Knuckle suggested. "You don't seem as stiff as you did,"

Shoot nodded. They passed another patient walking, this man more able as he passed. Shoot stepped over an extension cord spanning the hallway, his footsteps careful despite their gracelessness. His gait was a far cry from his silent movement of the past, but Knuckle knew it was only a matter of time.

 

Shoot's discharge from the hospital was set for the end of the week. The tiny room Morel's students had shared over the past month was slowly being cleaned out. Palm's knick-knacks, filtered in slowly over the duration of their stay, were boxed up and taken to Knov's apartment. The woman herself was in and out, helping them clean and stopping them to chat in equal measure. Knuckle's own meager pile of belongings was packed away in no time, ready to be taken to their new residence.

 

Morel was renting a house. It all started with Knov politely (or not so politely, to hear Morel tell it) suggesting that Morel needed to find a new place to live for the duration of his stay in the city. After some harsh words about inhospitably and thinly-veiled remarks about Knov's sleeping habits, Morel had conceded that he should probably find new accommodations. Knov suggested a realty office in the city to help find someplace suitable. Since then, Morel had been dedicating every spare moment to his house-hunting search.  

 

"So ya really think this is the one, boss?" Knuckle knocked on the wooden door frame leading into the master bedroom. The tiny two-bedroom house was in a restored segment of downtown, within walking distance of the Hunters' Association HQ. The street was crammed with these tiny houses, wall-to-wall with one another, with hardly any space for a yard. Inside, the house was surprisingly bright and cheerful. Although most of the rental cost went towards the prime location, the kitchen and bathrooms were serviceable.

"I have to admit, I've outdone myself!" Morel remarked cheerfully, propping his massive pipe against the wall. "This should suit our needs quite well,"

"Yeah," Knuckle nodded his head, moving to look out one dingy window. 

 

The entire property had an unkempt, windswept look about it. The blue shutters on every window, pale from exposure to the sun, looked like they hadn't been repainted in years. The front sidewalk was cracked and dangerous. The back of the house abutted a small alleyway, with a tall wooden fence separating the property from a neighboring convenience store. There were weeds growing around the trashcan, poking up through the white concrete and blooming small lavender flowers from their tips. Knuckle had no doubt it would make a comfortable home for the three of them. It was unknown how long Morel's business with the Association would keep them there, but Knuckle was ready to buckle down for the long haul. 

 

"I took a look at the second bedroom," he told his teacher. "Should be really comfortable for me and Shoot,"

"Hmm, good," Morel replied. "Shoot's gonna be glad to get out of that hospital room, I know,"

Knuckle smiles fondly. "Ha, yeah, he will be," Palm was sitting with the invalid for the afternoon; Knuckle couldn't deny that he enjoyed the brief free time. Still, Shoot remained near the front of Knuckle's mind at all times, his single pressing concern. His recovery had finally begun to speed up, although he still had a long way to go. The nurses were very pleased, as most of them had taken a liking to their most introverted patient. 

 

The two went for lunch after their outing, both too hungry to return to the hospital before eating. There was a small deli a few blocks from the house that Morel had begun frequenting for lunch. The restaurant was a casual affair, serving predominantly cold sandwiches. However, it certainly fit with Morel's aesthetic. The interior was decorated with a tacky diner theme, complete with a jukebox in the corner. As they settled into the corner booth, Knuckle chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny?"

"You're a _regular_  here, hmm, boss?" Knuckle grinned. "You're becoming less of a wanderer every day,"

"Now, now," Morel said evenly. "You know I'm no city-dweller,"

"You just bought a house in the city,"

"Rented a house!" Morel's booming laugh echoed loud. "Besides, I don't even live there yet!"

Knuckle grinned. The two ordered their sandwiches and dug in, looking out at the sidewalk view. The afternoon brought rolling storm clouds; it wasn't too long because the concrete was soaked through with a sudden downpour. 

 

It was half-past-three when they finished eating. The sun was out again, beating down on the pavement outside, drying up the effects of the rainburst quickly. 

"So the realty office said we can move in anytime," Morel said, setting his napkin down on his empty plate. "We can start bringing stuff over from Knov's place. I'll call him later and let him know,"

"He's been very gracious,"

Morel laughed, deep and booming. Knuckle swore he could hear a couple glasses shatter in the back. "That's a joke! Hmph, well, maybe he has been. Can't blame him for wanting his space,"

"He probably wants to get back to training with Palm soon," Knuckle pointed out.

"Do Chimera Ants train?" Morel looked thoughtful. "I guess they can. Well, Knov'll have his hands full at any rate,"

Knuckle contemplated reminding his teacher that Palm was still much more than _just_  a Chimera Ant. Still, he supposed that Morel knew. She was one of the highlights, one shining pinprick of brightness, in his two students' lives. 

 

That was a sentiment Knuckle never thought he'd express about one Palm Siberia! 

 

-x-x-x- 

 

The moving process was relatively seamless from Knuckle's point of view. He remained in the hospital with Shoot most of the time, getting updates from Palm and Morel. He and Shoot had started playing cards to pass the time. Knuckle would settle himself at the foot of Shoot's bed, making sure not to sit on his patient's bruised leg. They played simple games, games that were easy to understand but difficult to master. Knuckle lost badly most of the time. As in most arenas, Shoot was silent and observant, using his unobtrusive nature to his advantage. After losing a particularly brutal hand of go-fish, Knuckle leaned back on his palms, stretching out his shoulders as Shoot reshuffled the deck.

 

"Are you going to be happy to leave this place?" he asked.

Shoot sniffed. "Happy enough, I suppose," he replied. "You are, I know,"

"I don't know what gave you the idea that I hate it here," Knuckle leaned backwards off the bed, groaning as his spine popped. His upside-down view of the bland room wasn't much different than usual.

"The nurses are very nice," Shoot pointed out. "And the food's not bad,"

Knuckle had half a mind to tell him the food was terrible. "The view, the view's good," he said instead.

"Yeah," Shoot made the pensive sort of sigh that told Knuckle he was looking out at the view. 

 

Knuckle had seen the sunset from within the confines of the hospital room altogether too many times. The room directly faced the setting of the summer sun, the light hitting the windows at the perfect angle to shine inside. When the sun passed beyond the horizon carved out by the skyline, it left a soft glow behind, a warmness in the air that slowly dissipated into gloaming. Knuckle could always picture Shoot's face as he looked out at that disappearing glow. The golden light across his pale skin made him look healthier somehow; it gave Knuckle comfort even if he knew it was just an illusion. Knuckle could picture the way the golden light reflected in Shoot's eyes too, warm and diffuse. Even when Shoot was in critical condition, Knuckle had appreciated the sunsets. They were a sign that they had made it through another day; they gave him hope that everything was going to be okay somehow. Although most of the danger was past, there was still the lingering sense of an indistinguishable threat on the horizon. But in the warm glow of the sunset, that threat was very far away. 

 

"But you are," Shoot continued, obviously voicing a continuation of his own private thoughts. "You're happy to be leaving,"

"I mean, yeah," Knuckle blinked twice, sitting up before the haziness of being upside-down could overtake his sight completely. "You can't stay here forever,"

"I'm feeling a lot better," Shoot's comment was so quiet it was nearly inaudible. 

Knuckle smiled. He reached forward to pat Shoot's knee through the blankets, a movement that had become routine over the past weeks. "Don't think I haven't noticed," he said earnestly. "I'm very glad,"

"It's all thanks to your excellent care," Shoot remarked as Knuckle stood up, moving to stand near the nightstand. "I'm sure I would have been here much longer without your help,"

"No, of course not," Knuckle deflected his praise, reaching for a white hair-tie on the bedside table.

 

He touched the side of Shoot's head gently before wrangling that unwieldy, violet hair into a high ponytail. These little gestures, little rules, were something he had grown accustomed to. Shoot didn't like being touched without prior warning; the little pat was a signal between the two of them. Knuckle knew that Morel didn't take the same precautions when it came to Shoot's skittishness. He recalled seeing Shoot shudder, wriggling away purely on instinct as Morel wrapped one big arm around him; it didn't seem to do long-term damage to his psyche. However, Knuckle also didn't see any harm in being thoughtful. He pulled several wayward strands down, tucking them behind Shoot's ear. Shoot tilted his head back, resting it against the stack of pillows.

 

When did these touches between them become so casual, Knuckle wondered? After all, Shoot didn't have the personality to initiate physical contact. Knuckle supposed he found some comfort in the gestures. Shoot was solid, present - wasn't a figment of Knuckle's imagination. In fact, Knuckle often dreamed terrible dreams about Shoot being left for dead by Youpi in some dictator's fortress far away. Those kinds of thoughts were a product of the recent trauma; it sometimes kept Knuckle awake at night. He brought those ideas to mind too often, curled up in his chair listening to the hospital night noises. But as the telltale bruises and scrapes faded from Shoot's skin, those thoughts were increasingly less frequent. 

 

Palm showed up later with sandwiches. They were sloppily assembled, no doubt put together in Knov's apartment kitchen. "There's turkey and ham," she told them, pointing to each of the sandwiches in turn. "And one with both for you, Knuckle, because - don't give me that look,"

"Because you know I can never decide. You're an enabler, aren't you?" Knuckle chuckled, grinning as he unwrapped the sandwich. 

"Thank you, Palm," Shoot said quietly, unwrapping his own turkey sandwich with a careful hand.

 

Over the past weeks, Knuckle's amazement had grown at how much Shoot could accomplish with only one available arm. Granted, he hadn't know the man when he had both arms and hadn't even stopped to ask when the accident happened. Regardless, he didn't remember Shoot being so... capable... at maneuvering through life with a single hand. Shoot was more than competent at almost all everyday tasks and he only summoned his Nen hands in truly challenging moments. Now, he picked up the sandwich, stripped of its wrapper, and took a bite of it. His appetite had returned almost entirely since the incident, a fact for which Knuckle was appreciative. 

 

"You're welcome, Shoot," Palm replied.

It took Knuckle a moment to figure out why the woman began staring at him with a dead-eyed gaze. "Oh, yes, thank you," he stammered, drawing a laugh from Palm.

"You're welcome, Knuckle," Tearing loose a bite-size piece of sandwich and poking it in her mouth, she crossed her arms under her knees. "So I went out to the house this morning, with Knov. Just fitting in the last of the furniture,"

Knuckle nodded. "Gotcha. Should be nearly ready then,"

"Well, it ought to be," Palm told him. "You two are checking out day-after-tomorrow, aren't you?" She said  _you two_  so easily, like it wasn't just Shoot who was still checked into the hospital.

"Yeah," Shoot answered her quietly. "I'm meeting with the checkout nurse tomorrow afternoon,"

"Hmm, fun," Palm polished off the last of her sandwich. She had always been a fast eater, even before her transformation. Luckily, she was still an excellent cook as well. Even with their haphazard assembly, the sandwiches were delicious. 

 

Palm stood, straightening out the skirt of her linen dress. The knit grey gloves she wore to cover her scaly arms were a strange clothing choice for this time of year, but somehow she pulled it off. She could nearly pass for normal - not a Hunter, not a Chimera Ant, just an ordinary girl in the city. 

"Let me know how your checkout goes!" she says to Shoot. "Knuckle, a word please?"

Knuckle followed Palm into the hallway, wondering. The hospital was quiet at this time of night, with most of the visitors already gone for the day. Palm turned on her heel just beyond the door, almost causing Knuckle to trip.

"You're going to look after him, aren't you?" she asked, her tone bearing just an edge of demand.

Knuckle was puzzled. "Yes?" he tried. "I mean, I have been. The nurses don't really do that much of the day-to-day, so---"

"Never mind, it's not important," Palm glanced to the open door behind Knuckle. Her expression was unexpectedly anxious. "It's just something Knov was saying today at the house,"

 

Knuckle was curious. He had never known Knov to be much of a gossip. "What did he say?"

Palm shrugged one shoulder, still not meeting Knuckle's eyes. "That Morel might want you to start training again," she began cautiously. "Without Shoot. And that when Morel needs your help, you'll have to be ready to leave Shoot behind,"

Knuckle didn't speak for a moment. He looked at the green wallpaper, at the dark windows further down the hallway beyond Palm's head. "I don't want to think about that yet," he finally decided.

"It's not really that simple," Palm pointed out. "Hunters don't lead normal lives, they can't, and you know it,"

"What's normal about this?" There was a hint of frustration that Knuckle fought to keep out of his voice. "Look, whatever you're thinking... just keep it to yourself, okay?"

Palm sighed. "Fine - don't say I didn't warn you," 

 

Knuckle stared at the linoleum, thinking of Shoot. It was true that he didn't want to think about the issue Palm raised, at least not right away. Shoot wasn't fully recovered yet; maybe in a few weeks it would be suitable for him to live alone. But the idea caused a painful gnawing somewhere in the vicinity of Knuckle's chest so he pushed it away. 

 

"Besides," Palm continued, looking at one of her chipped fingernails. "I wouldn't want to cast a pallor over you two's new _love nest_ so just forget I said anything," 

Knuckle grumbled. "Morel lives there too," he pointed out.

Palm practically beamed, pointing an accusatory finger. "So you DON'T deny it!" she exclaimed.

"What? No! Hey, I didn't say anything!"

Palm cackled. 

"What's going on out there?" Unobtrusive, from Shoot's room. Knuckle made an exaggerated shushing motion.

"This is a hospital, you have to be quiet," Palm replied in a stage whisper. 

Knuckle simply rolled his eyes, laughing.

 

-x-x-x-

 

"Ok, name and date, got that," The checkout nurse, an elderly woman named Judy, thumbed through the stack of papers on her clipboard. Her sunny little office was tucked away on the second floor of the hospital in the administrative wing. The area was secluded from most of the hospital's trafficky areas; as such, it was almost disturbingly quiet compared to the rest of the building. The nurse leaned forward in her chair, picking up the power bill provided by Morel. "This is the address where you'll be staying, then?"

 

Shoot, dressed in ordinary clothes for the first time since returning from the mission, nodded. Although he only wore a cotton t-shirt and slacks, he looked more awake somehow, more alert. His violet hair was combed away from his face, pinned in place by Knuckle, who insisted that Shoot couldn't hide underneath that concealing curtain any longer. On the whole, he looked healthier than he'd been in weeks, save for the dark circles under his eyes and the lingering purple bruises across his pale limbs. The thick bandages for his injured leg were still obtrusive, visible through the thin material of his trousers, but they didn't impede his movement as much as they once had. Now, he settled in the chair comfortably. Knuckle was in the other chair, an ever-watching guiding hand.

 

"And the current renter of this house is?..." Judy prompted.

"Morel Mackernassey," Shoot supplied.

Judy made several notes, squinting as she wrote. Knuckle ventured a glance in Shoot's direction. He knew Shoot, with his introverted nature and general skittishness, probably wasn't enjoying this meeting. He waited until Shoot noticed his gaze before shooting him a small smile. _We're going home,_ he thought. Shoot returned his smile hesitantly.

 

"There," Judy finished her scratching, blowing on the drying ink. "Only a few more questions, now," She looked up, fixing Shoot with her steely gaze. "Who will be your primary caregiver from now on?"

"Knuckle will," Shoot said without hesitation. It was the most straightforward answer he had given in the entire meeting.

Knuckle blinked.

"I don't really think he needs that much _care_ anymore," he tried to protest. Truthfully, being called Shoot's _caregiver_ outright was still sort of uncomfortable. He had hoped spending weeks in the hospital doing exactly what could be described as "caregiving" would have rendered him numb to that troubling feeling. Now Shoot was the one blinking, looking at Knuckle with a furrowed brow.

"Hmm," Judy seemed unfazed. "Well, as long as someone's there to help in case of emergencies,"

 

Truthfully, Knuckle knew that Shoot would need a lot more help that he let on. He was still unable to walk long distances or traverse staircases. He also needed help re-bandaging his injuries at night. Of course, Knuckle was capable of handling these tasks. But as he sweltered under Shoot's nervous gaze, he wondered if he had caused his patient to worry. The denial was just that... denial. Knuckle sighed, feeling like a very poor substitute for an _actual_ caregiver.

 

"Is there any sort of medical equipment you'll need at home? A wheelchair, maybe?"

"I don't think that's necessary," Shoot averted his gaze.

"I need to schedule an appointment for your two-week checkup," Judy informed him.

"I... okay," Shoot relented. The two discussed dates and times for a few moments while Knuckle looked out the window. 

 

"Alright," Judy tapped the edge of the papers together on the table, letting them filter together into a semblance of order. "You're ready for discharge, young man," Shoot smiled faintly as he accepted the stack from her outstretched grasp.

As the two moved towards the door, Knuckle remarked, "Not too bad, right?"

Shoot whispered something Knuckle didn't hear.

"What?" 

"I said... I'm glad we're going home together,"

 

Knuckle paused for a moment, puzzling over the warm feeling that tickled across him suddenly. It always stemmed from the way Shoot looked at him, the way Shoot smiled. Now they were going home together, back where they belonged with just Morel and each other. Truth be told, it was the only home either of them had ever known.

 

"Me too, Shoot. Me too,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support for this fic so far! I really appreciate it. :) 
> 
> More chapters incoming soon!!


	3. Housewarming

Even in the quietness of summertime, the city awoke at the crack of dawn. And like the hospital, the little avenue came with its own unique set of morning noises. First there were the birds, chirping from the branches of the young trees that lined the street. They whizzed from branch to branch, whistling merrily, with no concern for their sleeping neighbors. Next, the buses, which began running at 6 o'clock sharp and didn't stop until well past midnight. Five houses down from the intersection was where Morel lived. The property abutted a convenience store, which began doing business during the morning hours. The owner could be heard rolling the trash bin through the backdoor at around seven, knocking and crashing against the curb as he did so. 

 

This was typically when Knuckle awoke, right as the morning glow peeked through the curtains beside the bed. However, it wasn't the garbage-bin-rolling that awoke him today; instead, there was a jarring _thunk_ from the window. Knuckle startled, his eyes struggling to focus. Squinting, he peered through the glass to see a disoriented bird flapping away from the scene of the incident, looking altogether unfazed. Knuckle rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pushing the blankets aside to sit upright. 

 

Beside him, Shoot showed no signs of movement. Knuckle moved slowly to avoid jarring the other man from his slumber. He departed the bed, making sure the blankets were pulled up in a facsimile of madeness. Shoot exhaled a soft snore, curling tighter into himself. Knuckle sighed, thinking about the inconvenience of this arrangement.

 

"You two'll be fine to share a bed for now, right?" Morel had looked so pleased with himself, pipe slung over his shoulder as he surveyed his new domain, that Knuckle had been hesitant to spoil his mood. Instead, he made a quiet, non-committal sound.

"It will be fine," Shoot had said, his face unreadable.

 

Of course, the two were not strangers to sharing a bed. Sometimes it was a necessity, traveling to far-flung locales where just a bed itself was a commodity. However, Morel's new abode's second bedroom wasn't big enough for two beds. Concerns about personal space and privacy were going to have to be put aside, at least for their stay in the city. But Shoot was still, well, _Shoot,_ and as quickly as the first night he was occupying the smallest possible sliver of bed, practically clinging to the edge of the nightstand. His newfound bravery during the mission didn't seem to persist into the domestic realm.   

 

For now, Knuckle was exercising the same carefulness he always used around Shoot, however much it interfered with getting a good night's sleep. He was careful not to jostle the bed when getting up or down. He had trained himself to sleep only on his right side to avoid facing towards Shoot and freaking him out. After months of sleeping in a nearly-destroyed armchair, Knuckle would take what he could get.

 

There were also some benefits to sleeping next to Shoot. For one thing, Knuckle was always nearby in case Shoot needed something during the night. In the week since they had moved into the house, Shoot had requested (with a great deal of trepidation) three whole glasses of water, which Knuckle obligingly fetched.

 

Most nights, Shoot drifted off to sleep without issue. Knuckle, on the other hand, still struggled with bouts of insomnia, always stirring unpleasant memories to the surface of his mind just as he began to feel dozey. Often he would just lay there, counting each tick from the clock on the nightstand or each quiet exhale from beside him. 

 

This morning, Knuckle felt well-rested enough. His head swam in that groggy feeling typical of summertime mornings - a condition brought on by the ever-present heat and errant pollen from the blooming grass. The bedroom was relatively dark in the mornings, facing the west side of the house. It made for comfortable awakenings on the whole. Knuckle glanced over at Shoot, who was still sound asleep. He had his pale arm on top of the covers, his fingers lax. It was a familiar sight, one that brought a smile to Knuckle's lips. 

 

-x-x-x-

 

"So are you two in there _spooning_ every night or what?"

"Good grief, Palm,"

"I'm serious," Palm raised the cup of coffee to her lips, peering out from under the brim of her ballcap with a mischievous expression. "You know I've been watching,"

 

There was a small shopping district just a few blocks from the house, a fact which Morel had been very pleased about. There was a grocery, emblazoned with a bright green neon sign and stocked with fresh food shipped in from the surrounding suburbs. Several restaurants, including Morel's favorite deli, were open for business. A bookstore and record store were jammed across from each other into a nearby alleyway, with umbrella-ed tables between them where patrons often sat to read. A tiny dive bar, which Morel had already expressed interest in visiting, had a chalkboard prop sign in the middle of the sidewalk out front. A few other shops rounded out the selection.   

 

A few doors down from the deli was the coffee shop Palm had been frequenting since she moved in with Knov. She could hardly stand to be in Knov's apartment by herself for more than an hour, although Knuckle still hadn't identified her aversion to the place. For this reason, she had come to the coffee shop in the afternoons to while away the hours while Knov was busy. At first she had always been alone, chatting casually with the baristas and browsing idly on her laptop. Now, she dragged Knuckle with her, forcing him to order a cup of coffee and spend time telling her every minute detail of his life in the new house with Shoot and Morel.

 

"Let me guess, you two only hold hands under the covers? So Morel won't see?"

"You know it's not like that!" Knuckle answered, but his voice lacked some of its usual brashness. He furrowed his brows and looked to the window. The street outside was bright with the glare, visible heat rising from the concrete. The city was not unpleasant in the summer, but the oncoming heatwave was like an unwelcome guest, newly oppressive and overbearing. A woman walking past outside was dressed in a slouchy tank; even Palm's cool sundress made Knuckle's jacket feel like too much.

"I think it _is_ like that," Palm continued to goad him. "But neither of you will ever, ever admit it,"

Knuckle only grumbled, irritated. "Lay off, will you?" He raised his coffee cup to his lips, taking a sip of the dark liquid. It was bitter on his tongue, but he couldn't stand cream and sugar. It reminded him of Palm's sickeningly sugary drinks. 

 

"When Shoot feels better, we'll go exploring," Palm suggested. "I don't want him to miss out,"

"I do want to see some of the city," Knuckle conceded. "And Shoot will be back on his feet by the end of the week. He's already up and walking around the house,"

"I'm glad," Palm smiled. "He shouldn't be cooped up there for too much longer,"

 

Knuckle had an idea. "Hey, would you like to help me with something? I, uh... don't want to do it by myself,"

"Sure, what is it?" Palm's interest seemed piqued. 

Knuckle drummed his fingers on the table, anxiety crawling up his throat. "I... well, I was thinking, um,"

"Spit it out, Knuckle," Palm was impatient. 

"I wanted you to help me get some more flowers for Shoot," 

Palm's eyebrows moved dangerously close to her hairline. "Flowers?" she asked, the expression on her face indicating that this was too good to be true.

"B-because, when he was in the hospital," Knuckle stammered out, eager to explain himself, "you brought him flowers and I think he really appreciated them. That's all,"

"Well, if that's all," Palm teased. 

Knuckle lowered his head to the table, hiding his face in his arms. "You're terrible," 

 

The two walked down the street, a leisurely stroll for a leisurely day. The sidewalk was busy but not overly so - Knuckle and Palm could walk side by side easily. 

"So you know where to go, right?" Knuckle asked. He still wasn't sure whether getting more flowers for Shoot was a good idea or not, but he was willing to try. Unfortunately, he also knew that Palm would never let him live it down.

"Sure," Palm replied. "There's a flower shop on the corner. I don't know if it's the best, but it's where I've been going this whole time anyway. The florist's really cool - he'll help you pick out something nice,"

"You can pick it out," Knuckle said petulantly, kicking a stone as they walked. "I don't want to be... overbearing, you know?"

"Ridiculous," Palm dismissed him. "You should pick out something you like,"

 

The florist's shop was open, as designated by the lit neon sign in the front window. As soon as he walked into the small building, Knuckle's nostrils were assaulted by the overpowering smell of greenery. The shop was well stocked with flowers, bouquets lining the walls from floor to ceiling. There were several other patrons in the small space - perhaps this was one of the better florists in town? Knuckle surveyed the walls, looking for something to catch his eye.

"Hawk's here somewhere," Palm told him.

"Who's Hawk?"

 

"Palm!" A man wearing a turquoise apron walked up. He was shorter than Knuckle, with dark inquisitive eyes and a tanned complexion. "I didn't think I'd see you again,"

"Oh, you know," Palm giggled girlishly. "I had to come back sooner or later,"

The man turned to Knuckle, looking him up and down in a way that made Knuckle bristle. "Who's your friend?" he directed to Palm.

"How rude of me," she mocked. Knuckle could tell from the glimmer in her eyes that she was enjoying this far too much. "This is Knuckle Bine, one of my fellow Hunters. Knuckle, this is Hawk,"

"Knuckle - interesting name," Hawk said. Knuckle didn't like hearing his own name from this stranger's lips. In fact, the man gave him a strange, unsettled feeling. "Nice to meet you. I'm one of the florists here,"

 

The trio proceeded towards one of the counters at the back. There was a small plaque bearing Hawk's name - his work space, perhaps? - and an assortment of flowers spread across the table's surface. Hawk appeared to be assembling a bouquet of blues and purples; Knuckle spied some purple, reedy looking flowers next to what appeared to be bluebells.

"I need you to make something special," Palm told Hawk. "Shoot's out of the hospital,"

"Oh, I'm so glad!" Hawk gushed. "That's excellent news,"

"Yes, but he's still laid up at home," Palm told him. "Otherwise I'm sure he'd be here with us,"

Hawk clicked his tongue. "A shame,"

Knuckle just stood there, ripples of discomfort rolling down his spine. He didn't like the easy way that Palm and this man talked about Shoot.  _Silly of me,_ he thought, trying to push the thoughts away.

 

"Anyway, what did you have in mind?" Hawk asked. He looked between Palm and Knuckle. Palm cleared her throat, gesturing to Knuckle.

"Oh," Knuckle began, feeling quite on the spot. Before this moment, he'd hardly thought what he wanted in the bouquet for Shoot. Truthfully, he'd hoped Palm would handle most of the selection process. For now, he'd just play it by ear. "Well, he likes purple. And pink, but uh, not like, _girly_  pink, you know,"

Hawk laughed, a little shrill. "Oh, there's no 'girly' pink in a flower shop," he said, in a tone that made Knuckle feel foolish. "I'm sure I have an idea. How do you feel about gladioli?" 

"I've... never heard of it," Knuckle confessed. Hawk whisked over to one of the walls, pulling down a cluster of magenta flowers.

 

"They're one of my favorites. They symbolize 'strength of character'... perfect for just leaving the hospital, don't you think?"

Knuckle swallowed heavily. "That does sound perfect," he said, thinking of Shoot's bravery during their mission.

Hawk smiled thinly. "I have some perfect pairings for that... some daisies, maybe some heather..."

"And lilac," Palm interjected. "Don't forget lilac,"

Knuckle touched Palm's arm, whispering, "Wait, what does that one mean?" Hawk was pulling flowers down from the wall quickly, holding them together in the beginnings of an arrangement. Palm just laughed.

"This will be lovely," Hawk told them, coming back with an armful of blooms. "Just give me a moment, okay?"

 

Palm tugged on Knuckle's hand, pulling him away from the counter. "You're so sweet, you know that?" she told him, her tone fond. She had that deep, sappy look in her eyes that she often had when she came to visit Shoot in the hospital.

Knuckle flushed red. "No I'm not!" he objected. "I'm just doing what's right,"

"I think you're thoughtful," Palm told him. "Shoot will really appreciate this,"

The bustle of the flower shop continued around them, but Knuckle retreated into his own thoughts. Would Shoot really like the gesture? Knuckle didn't want to put any undue stress on the man in this critical phase of his recovery. More importantly, he didn't want to embarrass himself by giving unwanted gifts. Still, Shoot seemed to like the flowers Palm picked out for him. Perhaps it was best that Knuckle had insisted on having her help.

 

"All done," Hawk returned. He shoved the finished bouquet, perfectly shaped, into Knuckle's arms. The flowers smelled sweet, their petals and leaves soft and delicate. The florist had added some greenery into the mix in a way that was very tasteful. Knuckle felt like the bouquet would suit Shoot very well. 

"How much do I owe you?" Palm asked. As she and Hawk completed the transaction, Knuckle watched the other patrons of the shop. They all seemed so _real,_  going about their daily business gleaming in vivid color. Knuckle realized he was probably numb from so long in the hospital; this moment was like the first tingle of a sleepy limb right before the return of feeling. Knuckle squeezed the flowers in his arms and also realized he felt uncompromisingly happy.

"... And tell Shoot I said get well soon," Knuckle snapped back to the present as he heard Hawk speaking. "It doesn't do to have someone so sweet cooped up for so long, does it?"

"I will," Palm assured him with a laugh. "Thanks again, Hawk. We'll see you soon,"

 

The two walked away from the shopping district into the residential area. The sun was beginning to set, the warm glow amidst the golden clouds lighting their way home. The trees lining the avenue cast moody shadows onto the pavement. Palm looked at Knuckle, who was still holding the bouquet close. "So are you gonna give him that when you get home?"

"Yes," Knuckle sighed. "What kinda question is that?"

Palm laughed. "Just checking," she said. "I know how you can be. Kind of shy,"

"I'm not shy," Knuckle protested. "I just... don't like looking like an idiot, you know?"

"Your life will be a lot easier if you just accept it - you're an idiot," Palm jibed.

Knuckle cracked a grin. Despite (or maybe because of) all Palm’s teasing, he felt like the two of them had become quite close over the past few weeks. It was a nice thought, one that made him look forward to their futures, no matter how uncertain they may be.

 

"Hey, these flowers are perfect for Shoot," he told her after a moment of silence. The colors of the bouquet were brought out by the dimming light - the combination of magenta and lavender was honestly perfect.

"Hawk has great taste," Palm told him. "He made all of the other bouquets I brought,"

"I don't really like him," Knuckle confessed. "Just gives me a weird feeling, you know?"

Palm chuckled. "No, I don't know. But hey, maybe you know best,"

"Well, I'll say this... he can make a mean bouquet," Knuckle held the flowers out, looking at them. "Hopefully Shoot will like them just as much as I do," The thought kindled a warm glow somewhere just beneath his collarbone. 

"Yeah," Palm sighed contentedly.

 

They continued walking until they neared the block where Morel's house was. The sun through the tree branches cast spatters of light and shadow where they put their feet, and a cooling breeze picked up from behind them. For a moment, all was right with the world - or at least with Palm and Knuckle.

 

-x-x-x-

 

 "It's nice you two are spending time together," Shoot looked up from his book. "She's stuck here just like us,"

Knuckle shrugged one shoulder. He poured the hot water from the carafe into Shoot's mug before placing the tea bag inside. It floated to the bottom of the cup slowly, a soft, drifting journey. Knuckle picked up the mug in careful hands, trying not to burn his fingers on the scalding exterior. He moved to place it on the table beside Shoot's armchair before settling into his own seat on the couch. 

 

"Besides," Shoot continued. "I'd rather have company than be bored,"

"That doesn't sound like you," Knuckle remarked. His own book, a mystery novel that Shoot had insisted he read, laid abandoned over the armrest. "You'd prefer to be alone, wouldn't you?"

"Well," Shoot laughed, a soft and unobtrusive sound. It was one of those sounds that warmed Knuckle up from the core because of how rare and genuine it seemed to come from Shoot. "I won't spend all my time in solitary confinement," 

 

Shoot had loved the flowers. He wasn't one to show his emotions easily, but Knuckle could tell he appreciated the gesture. Palm was eager to inform him about the symbolism of the different blooms, although she was still puzzlingly cryptic about some components of the bouquet. She also readily informed Shoot that Knuckle was solely responsible for the idea, not her. This had brought a smile to Shoot's lips as he looked upward to where Knuckle stood beside his chair and said, "Thank you, Knuckle," Knuckle had tried to hide the flush that rose to his cheeks but it was no use. Now his mind continued to replay the moment, along with the sight of Shoot with his nose buried among the blossoms, eyes closed and brow peaceful, that was sure to be an invasive visitor in his daydreams for quite some time.

 

Now it was dark outside and Palm had already gone home to Knov's apartment, as much as she loathed it. Morel was working late - it was just Knuckle and Shoot in the house. Knuckle picked up the folded blanket beside the couch and prepared to fan it out over his own legs. The tattered blue fleece was a comfortable reminder of the hospital, innocent enough not to invoke painful memories. Knuckle glanced over at Shoot. "Wanna sit with me?" he offered. "If your back's getting stiff, I mean,"

 

Shoot lowered his book, perhaps considering the suggestion. "There was something I'd like you to help me with," Knuckle blanked for a second - had he forgotten something important? Shoot much have seen the look of concern in his features because he too became worried, the crease in his brow deepening. "It's something new,"

"Oh, sure," Knuckle said, feeling somewhat relieved that he hadn't made an irritating mistake. He hated forgetting things Shoot mentioned to him, although he knew that sometimes it was unavoidable. "What is it?"

 

Shoot gestured to his injured leg. Although the limb had suffered fairly serious damage during their mission, it had made an admirable effort to heal. Still, wrapped thick in bandages and gauze, it barely seemed like part of Shoot's once-strong body - its owner even addressed it with a somewhat distant air. "The nurses said I should stretch it," he told Knuckle. "Sort of like... physical therapy, I suppose,"

Knuckle _hmm_ ed. He understood what Shoot was getting at, although the other man would never ask for it outright. "You want me to help you stretch?"

"That would be very kind," Shoot looked away, seemingly unable to maintain eye contact. It sometimes hurt Knuckle that Shoot was still so timid around him - but that was Shoot, and he was resistant to change.

 

Knuckle climbed off of the couch, going to Shoot's chair and sitting down on the floor in front of him. Cautiously, he reached for Shoot's leg. "Is there... something in particular I should do?" he asked slowly.

"Well," Shoot swallowed. It was unlikely he could feel anything through the layered bandaging - still, Knuckle held his leg with the utmost gentleness, keeping his grip loose. "In the hospital... well, they would unwrap it first,"

 

Knuckle cursed himself for leaving so squeamishly during Shoot's physical therapy. He had always assumed that Shoot would appreciate the privacy, but in hindsight it seemed silly. It would be a lot easier to help him now with a clear frame of reference. Nevertheless, Knuckle was still willing to give it his best shake. "Okay," he said, reaching for the pin that secured the outermost layer of bandage. "Then what?"

"You can rotate the ankle," Shoot suggested. "The therapist used to do it a lot. Or you could try - ah - moving my foot up and down, more like the motion of walking,"

 

Knuckle was silently thankful that Shoot was so quietly observant. He carefully unwrapped the outermost layer of bandages, starting on the second layer. He ignored the brief grumble from Shoot when he was a bit too rough, soothing his hand over the injured ankle instead. "You okay?" he confirmed before starting on the innermost bandage.

"Yes," Shoot's voice was strained. "It hurts, but it's alright,"

Knuckle unwrapped the bandage to reveal the damaged skin of Shoot's ankle. Granted, this was not an unfamiliar sight - Knuckle was the only one who took care of re-wrapping Shoot's bandages since they had left the hospital. Still, the swollen, sore-looking area gave him pause as he set the bandages aside. "I don't want to hurt you," 

"You won't," Shoot reassured him, his voice quiet. "I can handle it,"

"I guess if it helps," Knuckle conceded.

 

His grip around Shoot's ankle felt scary at first. He held Shoot's foot in the other hand, preparing to rotate the joint. What he didn't prepare for was the sound Shoot would make when he did. It was an agonized cry, seemingly involuntary from the way Shoot flushed and averted his gaze. Of course, Knuckle had heard the whimpers from within Shoot's hospital room whenever the physical therapist came. In his heart of hearts, he had always assumed that the therapist was just too rough and that was why she hurt Shoot. Now, hearing Shoot cry out and seeing him squirm under Knuckle's own trusted hands felt like a betrayal. The guilt was already bubbling up, hot and fearful, clouding Knuckle's thoughts with panic. "You okay, Shoot?" he repeated, although his own voice sounded unsure when it reached his ears.

"O-Okay," Shoot said. His hand was clutching at the arm of the chair, fingers dug tightly into the fabric. "Keep going,"

 

"Here," Knuckle crouched, moving until his back was facing towards Shoot. He could get a more secure grip on Shoot's leg from this angle. Besides, he reasoned that Shoot might appreciate less direct eye contact during this activity. Knuckle certainly didn't see any problem with hiding his face from Shoot, keeping the distress clouding his own features private. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Shoot's voice was soft behind him, but he sounded sure. Knuckle gently rotated the ankle, trying to repress the tears that jumped to his eyes when Shoot bit back an anguished half-sob behind him.

"Okay, one more time," he willed himself to say. Shoot didn't say anything, just made a sound of assent in his throat. Knuckle's hand felt too-tight on that slender ankle and he shied away for a moment before mustering his resolve. He made sure that this final rotation was as slow and careful as possible.

 

Shoot trembled, another hiss of pain coming from him. Knuckle felt something sharp clawing into him - he quickly realized it was Shoot's hand, moved from the armrest to the juncture of his shoulder, digging fingernails through the thin fabric of Knuckle's t-shirt. They stayed like that for a second - Knuckle didn't dare turn around for fear of making eye contact with Shoot. He was suddenly very grateful he'd decided to sit facing away from him.

 

After that brief moment had passed, Shoot's fingers finally relaxed slightly, although they didn't move from their current location. Knuckle cleared his throat, forced himself to say, "Still okay?" His voice came out shaky. 

"Yeah," Shoot whispered behind him. 

Knuckle released his hold on Shoot's leg. "I think it's enough for today," he said. "We can try again tomorrow,"

"Okay," Shoot's tone was unreadable.

 

Knuckle moved to stand but Shoot's hand held him more insistently. "Knuckle?"

Knuckle turned around. Shoot looked tense, the crease in his brow deep with the stress. There was a single tear making its way down his left cheek; Knuckle tried not to look at it. "Yes?"

"Thank you," Shoot exhaled, lowering his gaze. "I think it helped a lot,"

 

Knuckle swallowed. Silently he cursed Morel for encouraging his tenderhearted nature. Already the choked-up feeling in his throat was threatening to betray him; he knew he'd go to any lengths to make Shoot comfortable, to make him feel _better_. "Oh, y-yeah, I think so," He stood up, wiping his face on his arm to clear the tears that threatened to spill out. "I've gotta go get your bandages, hold on,"

 

Fresh cloth retrieved from the kitchen, he wrapped Shoot's ankle in silence. Shoot was sitting still, no attempt made to retrieve his book from where it laid open next to his cooling tea. The crickets outside were the most obvious noise, their creaking coming mainly from the hedgerow on the northern side of the house. Knuckle pinned the outermost bandage with a safety pin, using the same carefulness he used every night. He glanced up at Shoot - the other man's mouth was tight, his eyes focused away from Knuckle's gaze. Knuckle returned his eyes to his work, checking for any issues in his wrapping before saying, "There,"

"Thank you," Shoot said quietly. 

 

Knuckle reached for the blanket on the couch, suddenly wishing that it was softer, that the edges weren't so ripped apart. Shoot deserved the best. "Here you go," Knuckle said, fanning out the blanket over Shoot's legs and tucking it in underneath. "That will feel nice, it's a little chilly," Hurriedly, he picked up Shoot's cup and walked into the kitchen before Shoot could say anything in response. If Knuckle had overstepped his boundaries, he didn't want to know. 

 

The world was dark outside the back window, one big mosquito sitting on the glass with wings outstretched. Knuckle watched the bug as he rinsed out Shoot's cup, contemplating the distance growing between him and his patient. On one hand, he was glad that Shoot was making a recovery. But there was an inkling of sadness that crept up in the back of his mind. Shoot could nearly take care of himself now; it wouldn't be long until he didn't need Knuckle's help with anything at all. Knuckle wondered if Shoot would push him away much as he had in the years before, rejecting Knuckle's attempts at closeness. It was difficult to admit, especially with Knuckle's newfound loyalty, that the two's early relationship had been a rocky one, that it had been stunted before it ever had a chance to grow. But Knuckle tried not to let it get to him. He wanted what was best for Shoot, after all, whatever that may be. It hurt his heart to think about it too much.

 

The bedroom was quiet when they both laid down to sleep. Morel was knocking around in the kitchen on the other side of the wall, making a sandwich from the sound of it. Knuckle sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Beside him, Shoot's breaths came in a steady rhythm - in and out, in and out. Another bug skittered across the surface of the window, just visible beyond the curtain and silhouetted by the light from the streetlamps. Knuckle closed his eyes. He felt like shutting himself off from the world right now, and this was the easiest way, just to drift off to sleep. Shoot breathed in and out, in and out. A car drove by, moving slowly. Knuckle thought about Shoot, about how much better he was doing. He thought about him a lot in uncertain moments like these - sometimes, it helped him relax, reminding him that everything was going to be okay. The last thing he knew before unconsciousness was the smell of lilac from the vase on Shoot's bedside table. 

 


	4. A Night Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here - the next installment of "Lilac!" Thanks to everyone who's reading this fic and waiting to see what happens next. I just love writing for these two and am beyond excited to continue this story to its conclusion. I'm hoping to make some great progress this summer, especially once I'm done with school. However I should have two chapters out this month (April) so please keep your eyes peeled! Thanks again for reading and please leave any questions, comments or critiques below.

"And then I said," Morel flipped the eggs out of the pan, nearly missing the plate. " 'Tell me what you think if you have a problem!' And he didn't have a response to that," He laughed, loud and booming. He was dressed in an orange bathrobe, the terry-cloth texture crushed from years of use. Knuckle was familiar with the garb, having seen Morel in just about every state of dress in the past. Right now, he just wished Morel would stay quiet and not wake up Shoot, who was still asleep in the other room.

 Knuckle sipped his coffee as Morel sat down opposite him at the tiny kitchen table. Knov had picked it out at the thrift store - he imagined himself a master of home decorating, but on the whole Knuckle was unimpressed with his efforts. Most of the furniture he had picked out was well-made, but also heavily used or poorly suited to its purpose. As it was, Knuckle and Morel were cramped in the tiny chairs, the scratched surface of the table barely enough room for their respective breakfasts. Knuckle had a simple bowl of cereal in front of him, milk filled right to the blue-glazed rim.

 

Morel was already thinking ahead to training again, after all, so Knuckle was trying to motivate himself back into better condition. Of course, Shoot was nowhere near ready. He and Knuckle had started taking walks around the block, Knuckle's hand settled at his elbow to support him. The morning air was cool but not damp, the shade of the trees guarding them from any unwanted sun exposure. The neighborhood was still quiet, only a few others passing them on any given morning. The faces were starting to become familiar and Knuckle often greeted neighbors as they walked. Shoot was still too shy, hiding away behind a curtain of hair. But that was just Shoot. 

He also always got tired quickly, his breath coming quickly and beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He would never admit he wanted to turn around, so it was up to Knuckle to watch his companion carefully for signs of exhaustion. Once, he had ended up carrying Shoot home after overextending his energy. The feeling of that still-weak body in his arms had scared Knuckle - he swore to be more careful in the future. Better safe than sorry, after all.

 

This morning, however, Shoot was sleeping in. His expression, half-concealed from where he was cushioned into his pillows, had been too peaceful for Knuckle to disturb in good conscience. It was just Morel and Knuckle, eating breakfast together.

 

"With all this Association stuff, I barely have time to spend with m'boys!" Morel remarked as the sun shone through the window onto his plate. Although he was always supportive of Shoot's recovery, he seemed woefully unaware of what Shoot - and Knuckle, by extension - went through on a day-to-day basis. Knuckle tried to keep him informed about Shoot's progress, much as the nurses had done. Unfortunately, he wasn't knowledgeable enough to give any meaningful analysis. It was mostly the good news: that Shoot had eaten all his dinner, that Shoot could walk for twenty minutes at a time, that Shoot was feeling better and happier.

" 'S okay," Knuckle replied. "We know you're busy,"

"Still!" Morel frowned. "Maybe we can go out for a drink soon. Shoot'll be fine as long as we help him,"

Knuckle didn't really want to argue - besides, Morel had been talking about going out for weeks and now was a more appropriate time than ever. "Yeah, sure," he agreed.

"There's a bar I went to with Knov," Morel told him. "He's a square, you know it? And a lightweight," He laughed.

Knuckle couldn't hold back a chuckle. "That's not a surprise," he commented. "But by your definition, even I'm a lightweight,"

"I have a big body mass," Morel reminded him. "You know I have to drink a lot to even feel the slightest buzz!"

 

Knuckle grinned over the rim of his coffee mug. He enjoyed this banter with his mentor, even if the man had abandoned him and Shoot for most of the past month. It wasn't his fault - it was the Association's, trying to integrate him into their inner workings. They had even given him an office, decorated with nice leather couches and a hardwood desk. Knuckle had visited once, commenting on how ill-suited Morel was for desk work. Of course, Morel had denied that the arrangement was permanent, but his tone didn't sound as definitive as it had in the past.

Morel pushed his plate away, finished with his eggs "It'd be more fun with you guys," he said. "We'll go soon, okay?"

"Okay, boss," Knuckle agreed. He privately thought of Shoot. Perhaps it would be good for him to have some fun. But Knuckle wasn't a doctor. He wasn't always good judge of Shoot's limits. For now, he would just have to trust that Shoot could handle himself. The thought caused a pain somewhere in his chest, but he didn't understand why. He just settled for another sip of coffee, watching the birds in the tree outside the kitchen window. 

 

-x-x-x- 

 

"So what, you're just gonna go get wasted with Morel? That's irresponsible of you,"

Knuckle slowed in his jogging, pausing to rest his hands on his knees. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that," he grumbled. 

Palm slowed beside him, a biting smile on her face. "I'm not wrong, am I?" There was no animosity in her tone, but her words still made Knuckle uneasy. 

 

"I'm only going to have a few," he told her, standing back up straight. "So I can still look after Shoot. And he's only having one, believe me!"

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Palm stretched one arm behind her head as Knuckle popped open the cap of his water bottle. "He's not really fit to drink. You can keep an eye on him,"

"I'll just tell Morel we need to take it easy," Knuckle reasoned. "He'll understand, y'know?"

 

The two resumed their jog. Since Palm had started training again, she didn't need to run much. Still, it was a good way to stretch their legs. They could travel much farther when Shoot wasn't with them, jogging down towards the city proper. Now they were passing a park, the sidewalk curving along its perimeter, the trees shading their path. Knuckle enjoyed the feeling of the pavement beneath him, his breaths coming steady. The adrenaline made him feel more like himself. It also wiped away his more anxious thoughts, replacing them with an enjoyment of the moment. 

 

"And how's the love nest?" Palm asked. Knuckle repressed the urge to roll his eyes. "You keep it cleaned up, right?"

"I'm not turning into a housewife, if that's what you're implying!" Knuckle complained. "No more than you are, with Knov," 

Now it was Palm's turn to blush. "I hardly ever see him, you know," she said. "But cooking and cleaning, yeah, just like you!"

"Hey now! That's not entirely fair! What about Morel?"

Palm laughed as if the very idea was hilarious. "He doesn't do anything," she told him. Knuckle couldn't really disagree. Their mentor was only there once in a while and he mostly cleaned up after himself. The rest was left to Knuckle, but he didn't really mind. It gave him something to think about. 

 

The two headed towards the city center. The traffic was thicker on the roads now, with cars backed up trying to reach their destinations. The sidewalks were a little more crowded too; Knuckle and Palm were careful to watch as they ran, making sure not to interfere with any of the passerby. 

 The taller buildings in this part of the city were unfamiliar to Knuckle. Normally, Morel would have them stay in smaller towns, sort of like the town in NGL where they first encountered Gon and Killua. Knuckle could make himself comfortable with the layout of those places in a matter of days. Here, he was only starting to become familiar with the grid of roads that led from their comfortable suburb into the city itself. He was sure that once Shoot was more comfortable moving around, they would have a chance to explore more thoroughly. In fact, Palm had nearly promised it. 

 

"I need to come see Shoot sometime," she said now, sounding only a little winded from the vigorous exercise. "I haven't seen him in, what, three days?"

"A lifetime," Knuckle teased her. 

"Is he still sniffing those flowers you brought him?" Palm asked, giggling. A few days ago, Knuckle had made the mistake of alluding to how happy Shoot had looked when they gave him the bouquet. Palm immediately honed in on the exact moment that had captured Knuckle's adoration, refusing to stop poking at it mercilessly. Knuckle sighed, biting back a snippy remark. 

"Yes, I think so," he replied instead. "But they're almost wilted. Need to get him some more, y'know?" 

Palm just smiled, remaining silent as they began their ascent up a small hill. 

 

It wasn't until they reached the peak that she spoke again. "Why don't you tell him that you worry about him?" she asked. 

Knuckle frowned. "I'm sure he knows," he replied. 

Palm grumbled. "Then just tell him that you're in love with him," she complained. "That one's not so easy to figure out... I'm just perceptive,"

"I'm not..." Knuckle wiped the sweat from his forehead as they rounded a corner, deciding the best words to phrase his response. "I'm not _in love_ with him,"

"But you love him," Palm pressed him. 

Knuckle cleared his throat. "I... I care about him,"

"Oh, Knuckle," Palm groaned, shaking her head. "You're always determined to make things difficult!"

 

"Hey!" Knuckle pulled ahead, not wanting Palm to see his face anymore. She always read too much into it. Knuckle carefully schooled his usual tone before demanding, "How is it any of your business anyway?" 

Palm just laughed. "You're silly, you know?" she said. 

  _She's getting too good!_ Knuckle cursed to himself. Of course Palm would be able to see through his pretending - it was only a matter of time. Shoot had figured out his act within a few days of their meeting, so quiet and insightful as he was. Unfortunately, Knuckle still didn't want to discuss his issues with Palm of all people. So he said nothing, ignoring the feeling of her gaze on the back of his head. 

 

-x-x-x-

 

Of course, Morel was terribly persistent, so by the end of the week they were going out for a night on the town. 

 

"There we go," Knuckle caught his tongue between his teeth as he buttoned the very top of Shoot's shirt. He moved to brush an errant strand of hair out of the collar, smoothing it behind Shoot's ear. The pink color of the shirt made Shoot look paler than ever, in sharp contrast with his cool-toned skin. He had more color than before, yes, but he was still dangerously white, a testament to his period of poor health. 

Knuckle thought a blue or purple might have suited him better, made him look more... alive. Unfortunately, they didn't have many clothes here in the new house, so they made do with what they had. Besides, Shoot still looked nearly like his old self, ignoring the gaunter cheekbones and browning traces of bruises.

"Thank you," Shoot said, the barest smile crossing his lips. He didn't quite meet Knuckle's eyes. 

"Of course, you look... nice," Knuckle replied. He had thought offering to help Shoot get ready was a nice, helpful gesture. It left him afraid of awakening those confusing feelings in his chest that thankfully lied dormant for the moment. 

 

He was proud of his work, though - Shoot's hair was combed, tucked away in a half-braid with the rest laying smooth against his back. He looked better than he had in weeks. It brought that uncomfortable twist to Knuckle's throat again, frightened and insistent.

 "I'll go wait in the living room with Morel," Shoot said. He turned his head away, expression unreadable. "So you can have some privacy," Knuckle realized he hadn't even thought about getting dressed himself. Absently, he pulled down a black t-shirt from the closet, walking to the sink as he pulled it over his head. 

"It's not important," he told him. Shoot was making no movement to leave anyway, standing next to the sink. His stance was steadier than ever - his injured leg was nearly capable of holding his weight without issue now. However, he remained glued to the spot where Knuckle had left him, as though he were afraid to move without him. He just stood there, watching Knuckle in the mirror with wide eyes. 

Knuckle tried not to let it faze him. He bent over in front of the sink, splashing water through his hair. He selected one of the many hair products from his own shelf of the toiletries rack, squirting it out in his palm before carding it through his hair. It wasn't until he picked up the fine tooth comb that he heard the quiet remark from behind him. 

 

"I like it," Shoot's voice was difficult to hear even in the small, enclosed space. 

"What?" Knuckle replied purely on instinct - he really had no clue what Shoot was referring to. 

"The shirt," In the mirror, Shoot's throat bobbed with a laborious swallow. His gaze appeared to be fixed on the shirt in question. "Black... black is... never mind," His mouth became a thin line again, his eyes trailing off towards the toilet. 

 

Knuckle blinked. This was a rather strange comment, even coming from Shoot, who could be devastatingly unpredictable in almost every social interaction. Still, Knuckle felt that it was impossible to interpret as anything less than a compliment, however much the idea of it made him feel like crawling under the shower curtain and hiding for the rest of their time in the city. Shoot liked the shirt. Knuckle made a valiant effort to nod, face suspiciously hot, and said, "Thanks,"

 

Morel was waiting in the living room when they got done, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a clove cigarette. Its trails of smoke already curled around the living room, the source of the pleasant smell that often lingered in the sofa and throw pillows. Morel put it out in the ashtray on the counter beside him as the two approached, Knuckle closing the bedroom door behind them. "Ready to go?" he asked. He cast one concerned glance at Shoot, but apparently he found nothing lacking. "Thought we'd take the bus," he murmured.

"Sounds good," Shoot assented.

 

The bus stop was a block's walk from the house, near the convenience store that abutted the properties. It was less than half an hour before they were climbing off the bus on some street corner. From the looks of it, these were the outskirts of a downtown entertainment district. There was a bar tucked behind a closed office building, its neon lights blinking through the gloaming atmosphere. It was fairly busy, with sizable groups both inside and out. Morel clapped a hand on Shoot's shoulder as the trio walked towards the door.   

"I'll grab us a booth," Morel suggested. The inside of the bar was wood-paneled and hazy. Knuckle turned towards the bartender, seeing only a short line waiting for drinks. 

"I'll grab us some beer," he suggested. Morel nodded. 

"I can help," Shoot piped up from where he stood at Knuckle's elbow. Knuckle paused. 

"I really don't think you should---"

"Knuckle," Shoot stopped him. Despite his ever-quiet tone, there was an insistence behind his words. "It's fine," 

Knuckle sighed. Well, if Morel was set on them having a night out together, he supposed he would have to let Shoot exercise a bit of freedom. After all, he would still be there in case anything bad happened. 

 

The two proceeded to the bar, losing sight of Morel as he disappeared in the hazy crowd. The bartender was serving patrons quickly, so the lingering group around the bar had started to diminish. 

Knuckle pressed forward to place his order. He felt a bump against his arm, and he turned to see the culprit. It was a blonde girl, probably no older than college aged. "Pardon me," he murmured. 

The girl nodded, her drink sloshing in her hand as she moved. "Oh, it's fine," 

Knuckle asked the bartender for three beers. There was a game of cricket on the TV screen above the shelves and shelves of liquor - the city team versus a neighboring suburb, it appeared. Knuckle watched with interest for a moment. The bar was quiet despite its close atmosphere. The burbling chatter of the other rather hipster-y patrons was an unobtrusive backdrop. 

The bartender set the three glasses on the bar in front of Knuckle, accepting the offered money in an outstretched palm. "Hey Shoot, come grab this," Knuckle asked as he picked up two of the glasses. However, there was no response. Knuckle turned, scanning the crowd. 

 

Surely he hadn't lost Shoot that quickly! No, there is was, cornered by the blonde Knuckle had elbowed before. She was grinning, playing with a strand of her hair. Shoot looked slightly uncomfortable, standing stiffly on his injured leg. 

"You are so cute!" The girl was saying. "And like, I've never seen you before! I would know, because I love boys with man-buns. Are you new around here?"

"Yes, we actually moved in a week ago," Shoot said, barely audible over the sounds of the bar. He reached up to brush one lock of hair over his shoulder, perhaps a little irritated about having his hairstyle conflated with a so-called 'man-bun.'

"Great!" The girl was expressing at least twenty stereotypically flirtatious behaviors - Knuckle wondered if it required a lot of conscious effort. "So like, are you here by yourself or?..."

 Knuckle sensed it was as good of a time as ever to step in. He had never known Shoot to be much of a 'chick magnet' on their previous nights out, but if protecting him from the onslaught of ladies would be a part of his duties, Knuckle would honorably accept. "Hey Shoot," he said again. "Help me carry this, can you?"

Shoot looked up, nodding quickly. "Sure," he said, before directing his gaze to the girl again. "Please excuse us," She just giggled in response. 

 

Once they were safely away from Shoot's predator, Knuckle chanced a sidelong glance at his companion. Shoot was inexpressive, his long fingers wrapped around the sweating glass of beer with a steady grip. His leg didn't seem to be giving him any trouble whatsoever - his gait was slow but even. 

"Feeling okay?" he asked anyway. 

"Sure," Shoot smiled, the slightest quirking of his lips, when he looked over at Knuckle. "Better than okay,"

Knuckle couldn't stop the undoubtedly stupid-looking smile that came across his face. "Good,"

 

Morel had chosen a cozy seat towards the back of the bar with plenty of room to spread out. After all, he needed it, the width of one huge arm taking up nearly enough space for an entire person. "Ah, the first round of many I hope!" he shouted as his two students approached, eagerly taking the beer Knuckle offered him and downing it in a single gulp.

"What the hell?!" Knuckle exclaimed, eyebrows furrowing. "Wait, I have to go get you another one now, don't I?"

"I've got it," Morel said, standing up. "That would be pretty cruel! Besides, I'll drink the next one slower,"

 

Knuckle laughed in response to that, but he had other thoughts on his mind as well. The clock over the nearby fireplace read 8:42 and Knuckle mentally recorded that for future purposes. He was determined to tell Morel when it would be advisable to go home, just in case Shoot started to feel tired. Their mentor was well-known for partying hard and he wasn't likely to slow down without a reminder. Knuckle had sworn to himself that he would not forget his caretaking duties just because Shoot was feeling better. As he looked across the table to where Shoot sat, seeing the laughter on his face and the brightness to his formerly darkened eyes, it was almost easy to forget that he had a job to do. So he renewed that promise to himself, as he tipped the glass back to have his first sip of beer in months.


End file.
